When
by mercva
Summary: Inspired by the Megadeth song. 'Face the last enemy/I am the last thing you will know'.


Disclaimer: Ranma & Co, 'Mafia', and characters from DukeNukem all belong to their respective owners. Hey, if I owned them, you think I'd be typing this on a ten year old keyboard? 

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. If you fire a gun, you get recoil. If you punch someone or something, your hand will hurt. These are fairly straightforward. 

Less straightforward are the actions for which there are multiple possibilities of multiple reactions. What is the reaction of a butterfly flapping it's gossamer wings? According to chaos theory it means that a storm may develop as a result on the other side of the world. It may amount to nothing, it may cause a blackout up and down the coast. The butterfly may simply cause a slight breeze, or it might simply fly along with little to no reaction. 

Some of the most unpredictable reactions from an action are psychological reactions. If someone sees Barney on television, would they feel happy? Would they get bored, and change the channel? Or would they fly into a rage? 

If you abuse someone, there are two possibilities with many sub branches of further possibilities. Do they lash out immediately? Or do they stay quiet? Do they remember each and every abuse to repay, or do they forgive and forget? 

* * * 

Little Ranma lay on his belly in front of the pool, trying to catch the fish. 

Closer... 

Closer... 

HA! He struck! But the slippery fish got away! 

"BOY! Playing around like that -- you look like a girl!," his father bellowed. For some reason, his father always got mad when Little Ranma decided to play. Little Ranma wished that his father wouldn't take it out on him, though. 

"But I wath--," Little Ranma began to explain. He was about four or so, and of the age to begin getting extra messy. 

"If you have time to play around, you have time to practice! Now, practise your exercises!" 

Little Ranma began the stretches his father showed, him, muttering under his breath about how he wanted to catch the fishie instead. 

Then Genma hit him for letting himself get distracted, so he decided to be quiet. 

The four year old didn't like being dragged away from playtime to have to do what Father said. 

But Mother would make it all alright when she got home. 

* * * 

Little Ranma cried as Father tried to take him away from Mother. He could dimly make out Father protesting it was for his own good, over the sound of Mother hitting Father over the head with a chair repeatedly. 

"Don't take my child away!," Little Ranma heard Mother protest. He more than agreed -- he'd rather be with Mother than with Father any day of the week! 

Then Mother and Father sat down to talk. And Little Ranma, somehow, was more scared by that than by the previous domestic. 

* * * 

Ranma looked down into the pit. It was dark, except for a few reddish dots of light reflecting back at him. His father was tying ropes of fish sausages around him. 

"Do you want to be the best martial artist in the world, Ranma?," Genma asked. He had every intention of throwing the boy in if he said no, mind. 

"Yeah!," Ranma replied. After all, then he could pay his father back for taking him away from Mother. 

Genma pushed the boy into the pit full of cats. After awhile, the screaming died down. As did any remaining good feeling Ranma had for his fa--no, old man. 

* * * 

Ranma gave his old man an evil look. "That last cup ramen is MINE, old man!" 

"If you can beat me, that is," Genma replied. 

"Give it to me!," Ranma demanded. 

"Oh, the shame, that my womanly son would talk like an old lady!," Genma moaned, provoking Ranma to pop him one right in the eye. 

The two quickly started fighting for the last bit of food left in twenty miles that didn't need to be hunted first. Old age, treachery, and experience quickly won out over youth and enthusiasm, however. 

Ranma kept punching that useless old man as Genma held him down with a foot as he ate the ramen. He knew he was weaker than Genma -- the man had won the last few fights over cup ramen, and Ranma knew he needed it more. That meant that according to that honour Genma preached, he should have given that cup ramen to him. 

Stupid old man. Stupid honour. 

* * * 

Appearing to sleep, Ranma listened in on his father. Genma was talking to their host, promising Ranma in marriage to the man's eldest daughter in return for a bag of rice. 

Ranma wasn't stupid. A girl had explained marriage at the last school he'd been at, when he asked what his father had meant when he had been talking to their host. Marriage was only arranged between a boy and a girl, not a boy and a girl and a girl and a girl. 

This was the fourth marriage arrangement Ranma had heard his father set up, in exchange for food. It was just like the ramen, then -- the old man would mouth off to Ranma about honour, while doing whatever he wanted. The way Ranma saw it, the honour the old man was preaching about was a way for stupid people to be used. 

Ranma pulled his blanket closer to him, then slept for a few hours before being woken up with a bucket of water for more training. 

* * * 

Seven year old Ranma panted as he ran. He'd been going for about an hour so far, and the old man wasn't getting any lighter. Nor were the wolves behind them getting any slower. He cursed the old man -- the only thing this had over normal training was that Genma seemed to be genuinely trying to kill him. 

"Hey, stupid old man, how much longer do I have to keep running?," Ranma asked, gasping for breath. 

"Until I say to stop!," Genma replied. "Once we do stop, we'll spar for awhile. If I don't think you're doing well enough in sparring, you can practice your kata for the rest of the night." 

"Hey! That ain't fair!" 

"Stop talking, boy, and keep running." 

* * * 

Genma looked at the television in the shop window. It had an account of a girl fighting some monsters in America, somewhere. He didn't care about the girl (they were only to be feared with a deadly weapon they didn't know how to use) and couldn't understand what they were saying, but the monsters... they had unbelievable endurance. Well, except for letting themselves be stabbed like that. 

He should take the boy there for training! The boy would need extra speed training to fix that vulnerability in the chest area, but the healing and stamina would help Ranma on the path to becoming the world's greatest martial artist! 

Grabbing a passing boy, Genma pointed at the television in the shop window. 

"Who are they, boy?," he asked. 

"She's Buffy Summers, man," the youth said. "Man, don't you know anything? Let me go, I got places to be!" 

The boy twisted out of Genma's hands. He could get the boy back to answer more questions, but it would be more trouble than it was worth. Genma grabbed another child's shirt. 

"Where are they?," he asked, pointing at the window again. 

"America, Sunnydale," the girl replied. She then realised just where the funny smelling man in a gi had grabbed her. "EEEEEK! PERVERT!" 

Genma started running. Now that he thought about it, he really didn't need to stay in this town anymore. 

[AuthorsNote: This ain't turning into a Buffy crossover. I watched about three episodes of BtVS before I got sick of lame vampires. Alucard (of Hellsing) would spin in his coffin if he ever saw them.] 

* * * 

A few days later, once he found that ship captains didn't give free transport to America in return for engagements, Genma began to think a bit. 

"Hey, old man, why do we need to go to America, anyway? All they know there are guns and stuff," Ranma yelled. 

"Oh, that my son would doubt his own father," Genma said. "You break your father's heart!" 

Having had just about enough of Genma, Ranma tried to do exactly that with a punch straight at Genma's chest, subconsciously reinforced with ki. The portly martial artist flew backwards into a warehouse door, breaking the lock on it. 

Genma's eyes fell on a pallet of boxes, all addressed to Lost Heaven, America. He had no idea where Lost Heaven was, but America was where they wanted to go. 

* * * 

"Stupid old man," Ranma grumbled, picking pieces of plastic out of his skin. "Stupid VCRs. Stupid training. And your stupid idea was a load of crap." 

"You sound like a girl, Ranma," Genma taunted. "And how was I to know that Americans lie so easily, on television no less?" 

A Japanese American had informed them, once they *got* there, that Buffy the Vampire Slayer was a work of fiction. The town of Sunnydale had never ever existed. 

"You should've known," Ranma shot back. "After all, you lie just as easily!" 

Genma elbowed Ranma in the head, silencing him for the moment. 

"Now, boy, we need food!" 

"Stupid old man. Can't we go back to Japan?," Ranma grumbled. 

"Not until we've found a decent training ground!" 

* * * 

"And the oath I take on this day 

Is to know that you will be repaid 

One day the the sun will die and the night will crawl 

Until then, until I see your world implode 

I wish you death and suffering 

Misery to spare 

Time to release your pain 

Face the last enemy 

I am the last thing you will know." 

-'When', Megadeth 

Ranma wiped a trail of blood from a corner of his mouth, and got up. Music blared from the surrounding, dingy brick buildings as he glared at his adversary. His fa--no, Genma. 

Enough was enough. He currently had a few broken ribs, numerous bruises and he could feel something broken shifting in his foot when he moved. It hurt like hell. There were deep scratches still healing from those lousy VCRs. And he hadn't had any food for a few days, thanks to Genma's stomach. (Americans don't engage their daughters in exchange for food, and the cops are a lot better about chasing after people who don't pay.) 

Megadeth started on the end of their album from some anonymous apartment, and Ranma found himself agreeing wholeheartedly with the lyrics. He needed a hero, but he doubted one would be coming. The young boy, of about seven or so, repeated the song on his lips as it played. 

Time to stop holding back. And to drag out everything he knew. Honour was meaningless -- if Genma was any example of how two-faced honour was, then his father could stuff it. That crap about not hitting females? Some of the most dangerous people he had encountered in this country were women. More ready than men to pull a gun in defense, more emotional. 

"Okay, old man. You can go fuck yourself," Ranma said. 

"You sound like a woman!," Genma taunted. "Oh, how you disappoint your father!" 

Ranma's back stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. "Shove off. Or I find Mum and tell her that I want to run away with a man. We'll see how long she lets you live for tainting her 'manly' son then. Or I tell her about the N-n-neko Ken." 

Genma laughed. "You'll do no such thing, boy." 

The old man, losing most of his hair beneath the white bandanna, leapt at Ranma again in their 'sparring match'. Ranma, who had had it with Genma, picked up a length of wood that still had a few rusty nails sticking out. Genma twisted out of the way as best he could, but there was only so much someone could do against momentum. He came out of that exchange with a few puncture wounds in his leg. 

"Better get that checked before your leg rots, just like your brains," Ranma taunted. "How about I tell all those guys we met that you have no intention of fulfilling those promises?" 

Normally, Ranma would have forgotten these promises due to time and one too many knocks to the head (which would also explain his forgive and forget tendencies), but at this young point, he was more than willing to bring them up. 

"Time to bring you back onto the way of the true martial artist!," Genma shouted. 

The older Saotome attacked the younger, not leaping this time. He dodged the rusty nails this time, but was laid low by a broken bottle that Ranma almost hamstringed him with. As it was, the bottle did a wicked amount of flesh damage to his good leg, severely reducing Genma's mobility. 

Genma tested his legs. The nails had damaged muscle as well as skin on one, and the other was almost unusable. He decided to perform the Anything Goes Secret Attack -- Revised (Silent). True, the boy was short. But the Master was short too, and as vindictive as the boy's eyes promised. He'd train, and get the boy back in a few days. Surely Ranma would see the wisdom in not leaving his father (and only source of food in this strange land). 

"You make a good point, son. I will meet you in a few days and we will assess your training on your own," the elder Saotome pronounced, hands resting on his gi's belt. 

The seven year old smiled. "Sure thing. Whatever you want to call it." 

Genma limped off, and an older woman moved out of her shop to talk to the boy. 

"You no can live on your own, child. I've got an uncle who can look after you if you want, fix you up with food and shelter for some work," she said. 

Ranma looked at her suspiciously. "Are you sure?" 

The woman smiled. "Sure, Uncle Salieri is always ready to help someone out for a favour." 

* * * 

While it seemed like a good idea at the time, breaking away from Genma in a strange land had a few logistal problems. The most immediate of which were supplies, but the most longrange was the lack of publicly available sensei that could teach Ranma something. 

For a few years, Ranma was under the wing of an old businessman who supplied Ranma with food and shelter in exchange for Ranma doing a few jobs. No one suspected Ranma of doing something as heinous as stealing. They would suspect some ragged, musclebound patsy that the business hired for the purpose, however. Either that or the jurors were instructed to suspect some other organisation. 

Don Salieri had had some qualms about a seven year old working for him, but told himself not to worry when the boy demonstrated that he would steal and kill anyway. Ranma honestly didn't have anywhere to go that he knew of, and Salieri'd seen that the boy's father was unfit to be a human being, let alone be given the task of raising the boy. The Don didn't consider for a moment finding Ranma's mother -- if she couldn't keep Genma from stealing the boy before, she wouldn't be able to now. 

Tonight, Ranma's job was to inform a newly elected politician that Mr Salieri had been put out a bit by the new bill being introduced. Ranma was able to waltz straight into the politician's office. He looked up at the double doors, with 'Councillor Steve Thomas' splashed across it and lots of writing underneath. This guy had a bigger stick up his ass than Genma, if the bombastic sign was any indication. 

"What can I do for you, boy?," Cr Thomas said, offering the boy a lollipop from the jar on his expansive wooden desk. Catch 'em young, after all. 

"Can I show you something precious, Mister?," Ranma asked, being sure to do the wide eyed innocence act. Grown ups always fell for that. 

"Sure, son. What is it?," the graying man asked. The boy reminded him of his grandson, who lived with his son in Hoboken. 

"Gotta close yer eyes, mister." 

Once the politician's eyes were shut, Ranma pulled out a crude weapon from the back of his shirt. 

Councillor Thomas went stiff as he heard a *click* of a hammer being cocked, and felt a cold ring of steel press against his forehead, above his glasses. His eyes involuntarilly opened, showing... 

"Shit, kid, is that..." 

Ranma smirked. It was the smirk of the little kid putting one over on the schoolyard bully. It was the smirk of a man with his left hand around your balls, and his right hand around his knife's handle. 

"Saturday Night Special, old man. Shaddup, and listen good. A good friend of mine is being hurt by this bill you're trying to shove through. If you keep doing this, I'm gonna come back. Mister." 

As Ranma pulled the cheap, hopelessly inaccurate gun away from Cr Thomas'es head, the older man started to breath easier. 

"Didn't anyone teach you anything about morals or manners?," Cr Thomas asked. 

The boy grinned. "Sure, Pops did. He continually taught me that it was the duty of the martial artist to protect the weak. But you know what? He only looked out for number one. He didn't believe any of that crap. So, agree to shut up about that bill?" 

"If I yell, ten guards will come in here," the councillor said in an attempt to get the ten year old to back down. 

"If you yell, I'm gonna throw the gun at you and claim you were trying to kill me," Ranma smirked. "After I refused to let you rape me." 

The politician slumped at this. Even a hint of that could ruin the rest of his career. Even if he had never touched a kid. "Okay. You win." 

* * * 

Ranma marched into the Chinese laundry. The back of the small shop was steamy, and the smell of cleaning chemicals filled the air. He grabbed the register man's shirt, ripping it slightly. 

"I wanna speak to the owner," Ranma said. 

"Why you want him?," the man asked. 

"Just get him," Ranma growled. 

The man decided to appease the nine year old and got the owner of the laundry, who came to the front of the shop with soapy hands. 

"What you want?," the man asked. 

"You aren't paying your protection money," Ranma told the man. "The Don ain't pleased about that." 

"We no get accidents here," the owner said, trying to appear serene. 

Ranma wasn't having any of that. He punched the register, sending his fist clean through the heavy old machine. Coins tinkled to the floor of the laundry. 

"Accidents happen, old man. If you were paying protection to Don Salieri, that wouldn't have happened." 

"That only happen because you break register! Cho, beat him!" 

One of the workers attacked Ranma. He was minimally skilled in Kung Fu, and the trained Anything Goes martial artist easily left him in a bruised, groaning pile. 

The old man looked at Ranma closely. They'd made a bit more profit over the last week than normal, but it was dropping off as people stopped coming to his shop as word went around. The Don had stopped using his shop, which had caused the drop in numbers. 

"Okay, you win," he said, defeated. 

* * * 

Ranma suspected that his benefactor was about to ask him to leave, however. The other men working for Salieri were uncomfortable about Ranma doing that sort of work at an early age, and had expressed concern which Ranma knew the Don also felt at times. 

He decided to nip this potential problem in the bud, and met the bar owner in the back room one day. 

"Mr. Salieri, I think that you want to stop employing me. This ain't working out so well," Ranma said. While he had learnt something of English during his stay in America, he hadn't learnt so much of politeness. 

The whitehaired Italian nodded as soon as Ranma finished speaking. "Yeah, it ain't. I've anticipated this, and a friend of mine could use your help." 

Ranma blinked. He hadn't been expecting it to be this easy. "Um, okay. Who is he, and can he teach me something new about fighting?" 

He hadn't learnt much here beyond gunplay, after all. 

"He's called Doctor Proton, and yeah, he can teach you something." 

* * * 

Ranma looked at the cybernetic man, who was bald, had a metal plate covering half his face, and was in a funny looking wheelchair. The Doctor looked back at him. 

"Are you a doctor?," Ranma asked. "You don't look like someone who fixes people." 

"He ain't no sawbones," Salieri informed him. "He's a... machines type doctor." 

"Salieri, are you sure that this Asian kid will be loyal?," Proton asked Salieri, who was present at the hand-over with a couple of bodyguards. 

"He's been completely trustworthy for me," Don Salieri replied. "Except for a few problems with letting people be unsettled after a job." 

Proton looked at the now ten year old Ranma. "What kind of pay do you want, boy?" 

Ranma blinked. Pay? "The only pay I want is food, shelter and to be taught as much about fighting as possible." 

"This could work out in both our favours, then, boy," Proton smiled. 

"Why do you want me? And are you sure that I can learn more of the Art under you?," Ranma asked. 

The scientist's flesh eye blinked. It wasn't very often that someone questioned his ability in the sciences, or asked whether Proton could teach anything. 

"I need someone to run things for me -- running my funding operations are taking far too much time away from my research," Dr Proton explained. "As for the training... if you find my training lacking, I can find many accomplished people who are more capable." 

* * * 

Genma felt tears coming to his eyes as he learnt from a bartender that Saotome Ranma was quickly becoming a made man in the ranks of the underworld. The rough man had joy in telling Genma of how many murders he had heard that the Demon had done, and how many people the Demon had under him. There were rumours that the Demon's mother was a Lady Of The Night that could take a man's soul, and his father was a Red Dragon capable of flaying a man's skin from his flesh, keeping the person alive until the very end. 

Genma felt lines of death etch themselves into his soul, laid down by the actions of his once-loved son. While he and Soun might have been perceived as criminals while training under the Master, they had never stooped that low. Everything Genma had done for the boy, he had done that Ranma might be a better martial artist than he himself could ever be. Couldn't the boy see that? 

The bald, fat man took another pull from the sake bottle and weeped at his inability to bring his son back to the way of the true martial artist. 

* * * 

The first task Ranma had under Proton's tutelage was to memorize the wide spread network of drugs, prostitution, gun running, and bribes that Proton owned to fund his research. While this was an exercise in concentration, the youth found it much like Salieri's operations, except bigger in scope. 

Some of the Doctor's contacts had not believed the aging scientist when he introduced the nine year old as his executive officer, and Ranma had enjoyed breaking bones and spirits until they accepted him. 

This was perfect for Ranma's needs -- he was very careful to make sure that the fame of his alias spread throughout the globe. He'd make sure that everyone knew the man known as the Demon. 

While his underground organisation grew under Ranma's stewardship, Proton worked on the legal, more visible aspects. Losses in these endeavours were acceptable, absorbed by the illegal operations. Surpluses, where possible, were used in Ranma's branch of the organisation. People from the Rehabilitation Charity, for example, often found work in South American labs from him. 

He had developed a cybernetic framework that could be used in the human body to replace dead nerve cells. He had tested this system on himself, healing his paralysis in his lower body. While still expensive, this system had gone a long way towards buying Dr. Proton favours in global government. Dr. Proton had also funded a Research Base to be developed on the lunar surface, to be used for medical research, owned and operated by himself. 

As he became more famous for his prowess in the sciences, other, more reticent scientists of a similar strange bent contacted him. Proton often called on his colleagues for help when stuck, in turn helping them when they were in need of help. 

* * * 

Ranma gave the tall, pale German a disdainful look, then looked imploringly back at the Doc. 

"Doc, are you sure we havta work with these guys? Herb-sensei said that some of his boys still had something to teach me." 

Doc Proton lifted a lazy gaze from the computer screen. "Now, Demon, you've worked for me for six years. I've brought you to a lot of teachers during that period, and you've helped me with a lot of things. Have I ever been wrong?" 

Ranma scratched the back of his head. "Um, okay boss." 

The pale German smiled, revealing teeth shaped like incisors. "As long as you help us against the Hellsing organisation, we don't care if you aren't pure." 

Proton nodded. "And in return for us hiding you, you'll help us with research. It would seem we have a deal, Mister." 

The metal-patched scientist shook hands with the vampire in agreement. 

"We can work out the details in another week. For now, have your most vulnerable people move to London," Proton said after the handshake. "I have a gate there that will move you to the dark side of the moon. It is, of course, bi directional." 

And, of course, lockable by Proton or Ranma the Demon. They'd already had one organisation try to turn traitor; if the Nazi's tried, they'd find themselves breathing vacuum with no way back to Earth. 

"Are you sure it works properly?" 

Ranma frowned at this. "Hey, Doctor Proton's stuff always works." 

"Now, now, Ranma, it's a fair question," Proton interrupted. "I put my life on the line if it doesn't work." 

"You sure will, old man, if it don't work." 

* * * 

The Asian youth yawned as he made his way to the rendezvous over the rooftops. He was doing maintenance for the Doctor, carrying out the business of financing the Doctor's projects. Heh. He guessed he had learnt something worthwhile besides heaters from the Don. 

Blackness cloaked the rooftop that he stopped at, except for a figure leaning against the roof access door. The man was dressed in blue overalls, with a red striped bandanna. Holding a red staff, he didn't look like he could do subtle if his life depended on it. 

"You're the contact?," he asked, a british accent tinging his words. 

"Yeah," Ranma affirmed. "I'm here from the Doc. Here's the agreed amount. Twenty mill in used, nonconsecutive twenties." 

The man grinned. "We have a deal, then. Here you go. Finest Columbian white. The Boss sends his complements, by the way." 

* * * 

During all this, Genma had been working his way around the houses of Ranma's prospective brides, staying at the more gullible ones until they got sick of him and threw him out on his ear. The stress from all those debtors and constantly searching for a new home was beginning to give him ulcers. Well, that and the fact that he had heard that Nodoka was looking for him. She had heard of the Demon, and to say she was severely displeased would be understating the matter. 

"Damn that boy, he didn't come around like I thought he would," Genma ranted out loud. "Ranma Saotome, you break your father's heart!" 

A blonde American dressed in blue canvas pants and a red singlet walked over at this. "You know about Ranma?" 

Genma looked at the American. He looked to have muscles on top of his muscles, and a pair of guns were tucked behind his belt. "Buy me a drink, and we'll talk." 

Half an hour later... 

"Hessh my son... stupith boy. 'Posed to trade... no, train with me, learn mathal arts like hiss ole man," Genma slurred, not quite falling down drunk but on the way. 

"You're his father? Would he listen to you?," the stranger asked. 

"Shure!" 

"We might have a deal, then. I'm Duke." 

* * * 

A sixteen year old Ranma yawned as he made his way past the security droids. The Doc had disabled them at one point, but Ranma'd asked to have them enabled when he went through the complex. Good training. What did his mentor want, anyway? Weren't they about to go to some 'Mount Phoenix', so he could learn some more techniques? 

"Ah, Ranma. You're just in time," Proton greeted his young bodyguard. "Have you finished doing the rounds?" 

"Hiya, Doctor. Nah, none of the subjects have escaped. None are dead. Weren't we leaving soon?," Ranma asked. 

"Yes, we are. Do you remember that emissary of Saffron's?" 

"Sure," Ranma said. "Hard to forget some guy with bird wings and claws for hands." 

Proton held up a feather. It was white, and was tinged red. "See this, boy?" 

Ranma took it, looking it over. "Yeah. What is it?" 

"It's from the Phoenix himself. It dropped off the emissary's cloak when he left. And do you also remember our meetings with that plant girl?" 

"Hard to forget," Ranma said. "Especially as they were up against that bat freak. Heh. What about... oh heck. You didn't." 

Doctor Proton nodded proudly, holding up the syringe he had on his metal workbench. Ranma had had no idea how the Doc had worked out the essence of that transformation stuff. Probably gotten his pal Doctor Washuu to work it out as a challenge. 

"I did! Come here, Ranma." 

* * * 

Ranma flexed a wing experimentally on the plane to Japan. 

"It feels weird," Ranma mused. 

"Try hiding it," Doctor Proton said. "We can't have the Phoenix people suspecting anything." 

Obediently, the wings hid themselves. Ranma had to admit, the Doctor was good at modifying stuff. Well, the Doc and that Washuu friend of his. 

"Hang on a moment," Ranma said. "How come my hands aren't weird, like that other guys?" 

"And how would you fight if they were?," Proton replied. "By the way, how is the organisation going?" 

Ranma grinned. At the moment, he was taking over the pachinko parlours. His men had already gunned down the existing Yakuza ringleaders, and he was slowly taking over the existing framework. 

"Okay. Say, how is that thing I asked you about going? You know, the multiversal thingie that Akira asked about?" 

Proton blinked, surprised for once. "According to a colleague, they've just about worked all the bugs out. It should be ready for use in a month or so. Why?" 

Ranma's grin widened. "After we've finished helping Saffron's takeover of that backwater in China, I wanna do something with my old father. And there are certain skills that Akira told me these elves had, is all." 

* * * 

Duke Nukem kicked the Japanese man to keep up with him. He had found it hard to keep the fat martial artist on task as they explored Proton's base for Proton himself. 

"Don't forget; for me to get to Proton, we have to get past your son," Duke said. "And he's tough." 

"I know," Genma replied, a bit confused but always ready to claim glory. "I'm his teacher, after all." 

* * * 

Ranma was sparring with Saffron. He had found that once you got past Saffron's incredible power, the man didn't have any refined technique. 

"Come on, landling, surely you can learn something!," Saffron taunted. 

"Heh, you aren't even a good warmup!" Ranma shot back. "Heck, you can't even take a good hit!" 

The wall next to them exploded as an umbrella of all things destroyed the innocent stonework, whose only offence was fencing one area off from another. 

"Saotome! I see you're still good at running away to strange places!," a voice roared. 

Ranma paused, blinking. "Who the hell are you?" 

"Old friend of yours, Saotome?," Kiima asked. She was watching the sparring to learn something, or to drag the loser off to sickbay, depending on which fighter you asked afterwards. 

"I dunno. Hey... aren't you that guy... Ryoko?," Ranma thought out loud. 

"How dare you forget me! I am Hibiki Ryouga, sworn to destroy your happiness!," the stranger said. 

"Oh yeah... the bread guy," Ranma realised. "Hey, sorry, but that sack of shit dragged me off." 

"Sorry?! You think sorry will make up skipping our duel?! DIE!" 

Ranma dodged all of Ryouga's attacks as he tried to talk to the lost boy. 

"Hey, man, it wasn't my fault! Hey! Are you listening at all?!" 

He stopped the rampage (and saved Saffron's training room) by hitting Ryouga's Paralysation shiatsu point. 

"Now listen, I can't do anything about missing that match. That was my old man's fault, so take it up with him if you want. But I can have a match now, if you want. Stakes upped, of course, to... say, a million in American dollars?" 

Ryouga paused at this. While Ranma was the incarnation of all things evil, it wasn't as if he had thrown him into one of those pools at that Jusenkyo place. (Ryouga shuddered again at the thought of becoming a girl. Thank Kami-sama that the guide had come along just before Ryouga had gotten in a 'bath'.) And a million dollars american was a hell of a lot. He could buy a hella good GPS system for a million bucks. 

"Errr... okay," Ryouga agreed, nonplussed at his nemesis acting so nicely. He was sure that Ranma would display his true colours once the fight started, though. 

"I'll ref," Kiima said, "as a neutral third party. Ready? Fight!" 

Doc Proton entered the room as the fight began. From the start, Ranma had a clear advantage, dodging around Ryouga like a superball. As time progressed, he began to resemble a kooshball more. 

"But in our fi--," Saffron began, to be silenced by Proton. 

"I've finished installing the windmill generation system," Proton said to him. "You'll be able to take breaks now, with the heaters I've brought as well." 

"Thank you very much," Saffron said. "I've wanted some spare time to do what I want. Are you sure you don't want payment beyond alliance?" 

Proton nodded. The equipment was a drop in the bucket for him, and the alliance of someone like Saffron would prove worth it. 

"From what I've seen, you should set up a non-violence agreement with the Musk Dynasty and learn some of their leader's techniques," Doctor Proton advised Saffron. "You could do a lot more if you had more teaching." 

"True," Saffron agreed. "But let's watch the fight for now." 

The two had missed the fight completely, as Ryouga laughed over Ranma's bruised body. Proton walked over as Kiima announced Ryouga's victory. 

"As my employee is unable to, here is the agreed prize money. He will pay me back later," Proton said, handing Ryouga a million American in cold hard cash. 

Ranma would have congratulated Ryouga on his victory, except that the victor got lost immediately afterwards. 

* * * 

"So, these are the only other springs to that water supply of yours?," Ranma asked. 

They were at Jusenkyo, as Dr Proton was collecting samples of the water for Washuu in return for that analysis of the Phoenix feather. Kiima was with them as a guide to the region. 

"Well, there are two more springs, but they're controlled by taps. The last time they were open was about a year ago, when Lord Saffron used the hot tap to transform to his adult form," she said. 

"Heh, fun. So if someone fell into this spring, they'd change into a monkey or bird, or whatever?," Ranma asked. 

A short, heavyset Chinese man ran out of the springs. 

"Please be careful around springs! Very bad you fall in!," he yelled in broken Japanese. 

"I know, I know," Ranma said. "Hey, what's this one?" 

"That Spring of Drowned Piglet. Piglet drown there 2000 year ago. Everyone who fall in take body of young pig." 

"What's that one?" 

"That Spring of Drowned Girl. Very tragic legend say girl drowned there 1500 year ago. Now everyone who fall in take body of a young girl." 

"Ouch," Ranma said. "It'd suck to be a girl all the time." 

Kiima got a bit mad at this. "What are you saying, Saotome?" 

"Well, duh," Ranma said. "I mean, I've trained myself all my life. I'd lose all that" 

"Hot water change person back, cold water bring back curse form," the chinese guide explained. 

Ranma got up from his crouch at the edge of the pool, stretching. 

"Did I mention that pools very old? Surface very not stable?," the Guide said. 

Ranma looked up in disgust from the pool, pulling the wet silk shirt Saffron had given her. She had lost control in shock, and her firey wings had sprouted from her back. 

"No, you did not," she spat. 

Proton looked up from the other side of the pools. 

"Well, at least Washuu might be able to help you with that once she gets these samples," he said. 


End file.
